The Return
by chibi heishi
Summary: When the battle is hopeless, a shinobi has two choices. He or she can stay and fight to the bitter end, or can escape. But not all who choose escape are running. *AU*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, not exactly the next chapter of Zanzou or Children, but... it's something? *sidles away nervously*

Big thanks go out to **The Laughing Phoenix** who is sacrificing time to beta this thing for me - though any remaining mistakes are still mine.

I don't own Naruto - you'd be seeing a lot more updates if I made my living off of this. This is rated T (though it may go up later) for violence, angst, torture/death, and a general darker plot than most of my other stuff.

* * *

The rising light filtered down through the dust and smoke still floating in the air, painting the world a hazy, surreal grey. Through the smog and the grime, a young boy emerged, picking his way listlessly through the debris of what had once been a thriving subdivision. Of what had once been _home_.

Weaving on his feet, choking on the gritty air, the child stumbled until he stood before the ruins of one particular house. Tears welled up in glassy brown eyes as the eleven year old dropped to one knee, a hand reaching slowly into an alcove in the rubble to touch the little blue window box still partially hanging from the fallen chunk of wall. Incongruously, the tiny white and blue flowers still peeked merrily over the rim of the box. The grimy, bloodstained hand touched lightly, tears spilling out as the small, calloused fingers traced gently over the silky petals before dropping back to his side.

Blocking out the ache in his body, dulled eyes drifted across the battered street. _'Shiori-chan left her ball out.'_ The boy thought, numbly noting the little red ball amongst the rubble. _'Her mamma's told her a million times not to do that.'_ But then he noticed the wet redness on the debris around the little toy, and his stomach twisted. _'No… please, no.'_

Scrambling to his feet, the boy raced to the site, dropping hard enough to jar already-skinned knees as torn hands pulled desperately at the stone and wood. "Hey, _hey_" he called, forcing words through a throat sore from screaming cries of fear and battle, near babbling as his mind tumbled across itself. "Hey, come on, is anybody there? Can you hear me? Can…"

The boy's voice trailed off, dying as he uncovered the source of the red. A little girl, no older than five, lay amidst the wreckage, her body as broken as the rubble around her. Blood soaked into her soft blonde curls, matting them around her pale face. Or at least, what was left of it. His breathing growing harsh, mind shrieking incoherently, the boy tumbled back, _away_, up and on his feet and racing back to the familiar cheer of the little blue flower box.

Curling in on himself, the child huddled inside the confined space, resting his head on his knees as his arms wrapped around his legs. The ragged blue cloth around his head slipped, allowing the dented steel plate it held to slide down over the boy's eyes. He hissed in pain, hands flying to shove it back up onto his forehead. He almost ripped it off, almost threw it away – the boy didn't much feel like a shinobi right now, no matter what a school test and a little piece of metal said.

One hand returned to wrap around his legs, but the other hesitated, gingerly touching the bloodied bandage wrapped around his little face. _'Makoto-sempai said I needed to get that looked at'_ the boy recalled, briefly remembering the blue-haired Genin who'd put a quick field dressing on the wound. But that called up a later image of the same boy, face twisted in shock and pain as the tree branch he'd been flung into burst through his chest. When he'd first graduated – was it really only a month ago? – Makoto had seemed, at thirteen, so wise. So mature. But in those last moments… he'd been a child. Just a frightened little boy.

The wounded one shuddered, shoving the image into the back of his mind. There was no point going to the medical tents – even he knew that his wound wasn't bad enough to merit attention until the critically injured were dealt with. Tomorrow, then, at the earliest.

He curled tighter in on himself, mind blanking yet again. Vaguely, the memory of choking, overwhelming power drifted through his mind, his shock distancing him from the scent of blood and the screams of the dying. His last memory, as consciousness faded, was of blood red chakra and a fanged, evil smile. _'I wonder…'_ was the last sleepy thought. _'What __**was**__ that thing…?'_ Alone, exhausted and injured, Iruka slept, unaware of the passing of time – or of the shivers that overtook him in his slumber.

* * *

The dawn rose slowly over the devastated city, highlighting more wreckage than intact buildings. The hard black eyes of the scarred shinobi passed briefly across the remains of his Village before returning to the forest outside of it. Ibiki's hands tightened into fists. The monster – Kyuubi, they'd called it, though Nightmare was more appropriate – had leveled large swaths of the forest before the Yondaime had taken the beast down at the cost of his own life. A humorless smile quirked the Jounin's lips. _'And I do __**not**__ envy the poor bastards on crowd control when Sarutobi-sama, no, __**Sandaime-sama**__, has to inform the Village of __**that**__ particular gem.'_

The 'smile' dropped away as his gaze returned to his watch, and Ibiki let out a slow, controlled breath. His Village was _so_ vulnerable right now – their Wall had a gap wide enough to march an army through, their people were exhausted, injured… But worse than the Wall, Ibiki's chakra sense still sang of the monster's chakra. Showing an uncommon lapse in control, the Jounin's lips twisted into a snarl. _'Right now' _he thought, painfully aware, _'I wouldn't be able to sense a pre-Genin brat trying to sneak up on me, much less an actual shinobi. Having to rely on unenhanced senses – or even enhanced ones like Tsume's Clan – with our structural defenses so compromised is just __**asking**__ for trouble.'_

Ibiki took another slow, deep breath, letting his eyes scan carefully over the woods before him. _'One day'_ he reminded himself. _'Not even a full day, just give us a few more hours to recover from that __**thing**__'s attack. We just need one day…'_

* * *

Tokuma glared, using his irritation to cover his nervousness as the young Jounin made yet another visual sweep of the area. His fingers itched to form the seal that activated his Byakugan, but he knew better. All he would see was green – the visual negative of the Kyuubi's red chakra. The monster was _dead_, was _gone_, but it was _still_ harming him. For a Clan accustomed to flawless sight, this was _maddening_.

The sixteen year old jerked slightly, eyes darting to a wooded area where he'd thought he'd seen movement. The young man stilled, expression intent as he searched the region carefully. Nothing. Slowly relaxing, he remained vigilant until he was relieved. Unable to completely dismiss his concern, he signaled to his replacement that he was going into the woods, waiting until he received a nod of confirmation.

As the teenager slipped through the trees, ranging a short ways out, he finally relaxed completely. No one there – it had probably been a bird or something. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Tokuma never saw the shadow slip up behind him. All he registered was a sharp burst of pain before his world went dark.

A short moment later, and the sentry waved back as 'Tokuma' returned, slipping inside the broken Wall and moving wearily back into the dubious safety of the Village.

* * *

In the midst of Konoha, an infant snuffled quietly in the arms of an old man. Weary eyes remained locked on the view outside the window, but the child was rocked slightly. "Hush, little one" the old man murmured. Bright blue eyes cracked open for an instant, but the baby yawned and settled back down to sleep. Absently rocking the child, Sarutobi Hiruzen looked out over the mess that was currently his Hidden Village, narrowing his eyes in concentration as his deceptively sharp mind worked to prioritize his people's needs.

As the dawn brightened into day, and then began to fade into the warm light of afternoon, the old man – Hokage now, again, he reminded himself – worked tirelessly. He stood before his people with grievous news, offering strength and hope though he personally felt that there was little of the same inside of him. He looked over the patrol shifts, ensuring that his exhausted, traumatized shinobi did not strain what little stamina they had available to them. He glanced briefly over budgets, authorizing the access of emergency funds and stores to supply the shelters going up throughout his Village – if this wasn't an emergency, then Hiruzen didn't know what was.

Finally the sun was warm through the windows of his Tower, and his city buzzed with life, albeit much slower and more quietly than was the norm. But the old man closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his old bones exactly one minute to savor the heat. When his self-allotted time of indulgence was over, his eyes opened again – and his heart froze in his chest as he saw a dark wave sweep over his Village's eastern Wall.

Though his heart seemed to stop, his mind and body did not – the Sandaime Hokage dashed to sound the alarm, snatching up his armor as he vanished from the office.

* * *

For the next two days, a battered Konoha fought desperately to drive out the Kumo invasion. Its shinobi struggled bitterly, aided by their knowledge of the terrain but hampered by their injuries and exhaustion. Steadily, they were driven back, forced deeper into the heart of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

The Leaf shinobi, one by one, were struck down and shackled, captured and killed. Civilians shivered in their homes, surrendering instantly when one of the Kumo nin broke down their doors and praying that, somehow, their families survive this new disaster with no further losses. Still the running battles raged on, the Will of Fire blazing in its people.

And through it all, a small boy with a face nearly as wounded as his heart slept hidden amongst the wreckage, haunted by pain and fevered dreams, unaware of the shudders that wracked his small body as what was left of his world burned around him.

* * *

When Iruka woke, he felt sick, shaky and weak. His head ached fiercely and he felt so _cold_. His stomach cramped badly, though the very thought of food was enough to induce a roiling wave of nausea. Pulling himself from his resting place, the boy looked around himself in confusion. His body told him that he had somehow slept much longer than he had intended, but fires still burned in the streets, blazing in the dark night. _'Shouldn't those be out by now?'_ he thought, unease creeping into his mind.

Pulling himself together as much as possible, Iruka slipped into deeper shadows, one hand reaching for the kunai in his weapons pack. Ducking under and around rubble, the boy stilled as he heard a sound out of place in the quiet. Regulating his breathing, quieting and slowing the hiss of air, fever-glazed eyes sought out the source of the noise even as he pressed further back into the night. After a heartbeat, two shinobi strolled down the broken street.

Iruka almost called out, almost _came_ out, but something about them pricked at his instincts. Their outline… wasn't quite right. The eleven year old waited, hesitating in his hiding spot as the pair passed near one of the fires burning nearby – and his breath caught in his throat as the light flickered across the hitai-ate tied proudly across their foreheads. _'Kumo? Here? Wha… How long was I out? What's going __**on**__ around here!'_

Iruka waited until he was _sure_ that the foreign pair was out of range, and then he slipped away. His eyes cleared, adrenaline pushing away the last vestiges of the fever running through his body as he moved as quickly and quietly as a Genin was able. He hid quietly from a few more strange shinobi, noting with rising terror that they were too relaxed – as if they had already won.

As he slid through the darkness, the boy came to an open stretch that had once been the courtyard of an apartment complex. Watching warily, he stepped into the space, moving lightly across the ground. He was just across, just into the shelter of cover again, when he felt warm steel against the back of his neck. He didn't want to think about the warm wetness that dripped down onto his back and shoulders, he _didn't_. But after a moment, the tension in the weapon relented.

"Konoha" his captor breathed, and the next thing Iruka knew there was a larger body all but slumping over his. The boy clamped his jaw to contain the startled squeak that wanted to escape, twisting awkwardly to try and help this apparent ally. His eyes widened again, and he couldn't help the horrified words, though he did at least remember to keep his voice down. "ANBU-san!" The youth leaning against him wasn't much bigger than Iruka himself, probably still in his early teens, with wild silver hair matted with blood and grime. But the tattered body armor and the cracked porcelain mask were unmistakable.

That masked face tilted up to his and Iruka had the distinct impression that the other was _glaring_ at him. And then his breath was stolen as the ANBU shoved a small bundle into his chest. "Get to the northern wall, be there when the clock strikes the hour. I'll meet you if I can" the teen wheezed, his words slurring with exhaustion and blood loss. "Tell Almanac, 'Wolf said take him too – Sensei would want it.' You got that, kid?"

Confused and frightened, all Iruka could do was to stammer his understanding. "Tell Almanac that… that Wolf said Sensei'd want to take him, too."

A soft snort, and the faint impression that the older boy smirked at him. "Close enough. _Go!"_ With a shove to Iruka's shoulder, the ANBU launched himself away from the Genin – and straight at a Kumo shinobi that Iruka hadn't even noticed. He hesitated, confused, but a snarl from the ANBU sent him racing north.

Finally, miraculously, reaching the Northern Wall – or rather, what was left of it – Iruka peered down into the bundle in his arms. A soft sound escaped him as bright blue eyes peeked up from under baby-fine blond hair. The odd markings on the infant's cheeks made Iruka briefly wonder if the baby had been hurt during the attack, but then his brow furrowed.

The baby's mouth was moving, wide open and breath bellowing as if the child were squalling – the little face was even beginning to turn red – but there was no sound. _'Is he mute?'_ But then Iruka noticed that the baby wasn't squirming either, and, peeling back the blankets the child was wrapped in, Iruka's eyes nearly bulged out. The child was swaddled so tightly that he _couldn't_ move – in fact, a hurried check showed that the little toes were starting to turn pale and cool. _'Silencing jutsu, then'_ he thought, realizing that the ANBU must have been desperate to keep the child still and silent. Even so…

Iruka unwrapped the blankets, rubbing the little limbs gently as the pair crouched in the shadow of the broken wall. Once the toes were pink and warm again, he re-swaddled the child snugly, but not _too_ tight. The little one quieted, relaxing once the constriction was gone and finally drifting off to sleep in Iruka's arms.

A smile pulled slightly at the Genin's lips as he cuddled the infant, waiting for the Tower clock to strike the hour.

Slipping out from the shadow of the wall, Iruka dared to step out into the open. Wide brown eyes searched carefully for any sign of movement – of this 'Almanac' – but there was only the silent darkness. Walking slowly, Iruka felt his tension wind higher and higher, ever aware that there were apparently enemy shinobi in Konoha – and he still didn't know how or why. So when cold steel touched the back of his neck – _again_ – Iruka dropped instantly, curling protectively around the infant in his arms.

"Wolf sent me!" he hissed desperately as his eyes instinctively squeezed closed, entire body bracing for the blow he _knew_ was coming. Except… it didn't. His captor remained still, though the blade never left his neck, and after an eternal instant Iruka more felt than saw other figures step carefully into the clearing, many holding bundles of their own.

One, tall and stocky and all but radiating power and authority, snapped quietly in a voice frighteningly devoid of emotion. "Explain." So he did.

"I was… avoiding Kumo agents, and a wounded ANBU agent appeared and handed me my package. He said 'tell Almanac Wolf said take him, Sensei'd want it' and sent me to this rendezvous. We were discovered by one Kumo shinobi, and the ANBU left in pursuit of him. I came to deliver the package, as ordered. Sir."

Finally there was emotion in that bland voice as the man bit off an oath. "Damn it, brat!" Somehow, Iruka knew that the man wasn't talking about him.

But then a man – another ANBU from the look of him – spoke quietly. "So what do we do with the kid?"

The stocky man – Almanac, he supposed – answered immediately. "We can't let him live. He's seen too much." Iruka's heart froze as his gut went cold. _'But…'_ he thought wildly, _'but these are __**my own people!**__'_ As the blade pressed lightly against his skin, yet another stepped forward.

"Wait" the man asked, handing the bundle in his arms over to another. The pressure eased as the new one stepped close, easing to one knee in front of the terrified Genin. "Hey," the man murmured, his voice warm as one hand lifted to cup the boy's face. Iruka looked up, hardly able to breathe, taking in the cold porcelain mask and the dirty blond ponytail. And then he stiffened, eyes rolling back as his body reacted to the utterly foreign sensation of him _mind_ being opened, rifled through – not roughly, but too quickly to be truly gentle.

Once released, the boy went boneless, just barely able to twist enough to avoid landing on the baby he still curled around. Blondie looked up at the others, something odd in his voice. "Orphan" he stated, almost sadly. "And _very_ determined to protect this child. Take him with us, Ibiki. He can't slow us down much more than the babies, and the way he holds that one says he knows how to deal with them."

A tense moment, during which Iruka tried _not_ to hyperventilate, passed before the first man spoke again. "Yeah. There's enough Konohan dead, let's not add to it."

Another heartbeat of silence, and then Almanac – Ibiki? – nodded sharply and the blade removed itself from Iruka entirely. "Fine." He said to the group in general, and then turned a sharp tone on the cowering Genin. "You want to help Konoha? Then on your feet, boy. We leave _now_."

As the group began to move away from their Village – the blond nearly dragging Iruka by one arm – the shell shocked boy could only form one coherent thought. _'Wolf-san… __**what**__ did you get me __**in **__to?'_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** As you may notice, I've taken down two chapters in this story and replaced them with this one. My imagination refused to go forward with this story - it insisted on going back and reviewing things that would have happened long before the original chapter 2. So I'm humoring it, and hopefully you readers will enjoy these 'history' details enough to forgive me for it.

**Disclaimer:** As this is in NO way canon, I must not own Naruto.

And thanks to the ever-patient **The Laughing Phoenix** for not kicking me when I asked her to beta this mess.

* * *

In the darkest hours of night, trees became a blur of mottled shadows, distinguished only by being darker than the space between them. Scrub brush blended with the sparse moonlight filtering through the thick canopy above, turning the ground into a patchwork quilt of black and deepest grey. The bravest of the night birds cautiously called out, finally beginning to return to the ravaged land.

But Iruka saw none of this, struggling as he was to keep his feet beneath him while the blond ANBU's speed threatened to leave the boy streaming behind like a bizarre banner. The Genin ducked his head, rolling his opposite shoulder forward to try and shield the child in his arms, and then focused his attention on the elder's feet.

Finally Iruka caught onto a rough approximation of the older shinobi's rhythm, and the grip on his wrist merely lengthened his stride without promising to send him careening out of control. Immediately realizing there was a decrease in resistance, the ANBU tilted his masked face back toward the boy for an instant.

The man watched the child for a moment, and then gave one sharp nod. That larger hand tightened once in warning before releasing him entirely, and the ANBU dropped back, taking his place among the outer circle of the fleeing group. The change altered Iruka's balance, making the Genin stumble briefly, but a light touch to his left shoulder provided just enough momentary support for the boy to catch himself, adjusting his stride as best he could.

Glancing over, he was startled into another stumble by the quick grin that greeted him from a young, _unmasked_ face. The other boy, appearing about his own age, immediately reached to balance him again, surprise and embarrassment washing over broad features. "Sorry" the stranger blurted quietly. Iruka gave him a nod and then the boys fell into step, both too focused on their breathing and their footwork to be able to speak.

Suddenly the ANBU stopped, dropping into place so smoothly that it took another step or two for Iruka to realize that they weren't moving anymore. The Genin's head snapped up, looking almost wildly around, seeking the enemy he was sure _must_ be there. His young partner tapped his arm, and Iruka nearly jumped out of his skin. Wide eyed, he turned to the other boy. "Ibiki called a break" the other whispered.

Iruka blinked. "Oh." Abruptly his panic bled away, leaving the brunet suddenly aware of his burning lungs and aching legs. He dropped heavily to his knees, curling over and trying to slow his breathing.

The other dropped beside him, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, straighten up. Tip your head back – it'll open your airway so you can breathe better."

To Iruka's pleased surprise, the trick worked just like the other boy said it would, and he flashed his fellow youngster a small, hesitant smile. "I'm Umino Iruka" he offered.

The other boy flashed that grin again. "Tenzo."

Iruka craned his neck, and caught sight of a group of the ANBU clustered together towards the rear of the party. "What's going on back there?" he murmured, not really expecting an answer.

But Tenzo shrugged. "Don't know – I'll go find out." Apparently in much better shape than the other Genin, he jumped up and slipped away towards the adults. When the boy came back, his expression was troubled. "Sparrow's not doing so well" he nearly mumbled. "They're rebinding her wounds, but... if she falls behind again, Ibiki says we'll leave her."

Iruka winced, but he didn't doubt for a moment that this 'Sparrow' could be simply abandoned. A shiver ran down the boy's spine as he recalled the casual way that same man had ordered his own death. No, Iruka decided, he didn't much like Ibiki – and he definitely didn't want to be in the man's way!

-o-

A low, scraping sound echoed down dark halls, followed by the lightly panting breath of a child. Resting against the wall for an instant, the six-year-old summoned his strength for the next stretch. With a final heave, the boy fell to his knees even as the crate slid into place amongst the others scattered haphazardly throughout the room.

Forcing himself first to his feet, through four stumbling steps, and then onto his tiptoes, dark eyes peered critically through the window. On the ground, nearly inconspicuous amongst the other flames, burned a pile of wood and cloth and plastic. If one were very observant, one might be able to distinguish the bright, pastel colors quickly turning black.

Finally allowing his trembling legs to give out beneath him, the little boy collapsed, curling tiredly on the floor. As his eyes passed over all of the boxes painstakingly dragged into place, a curl of satisfaction arose. There was nothing soft or hospitable in the room – nothing to indicate that it had, only that morning, been a nursery. All of the toys, the crib, all of the large pictures, they all burned below the window. Small pictures hidden away, formula poured down the sink... there was no trace left of the infant who had so recently occupied the room.

_'They won't know you were here, little brother.'_ the boy thought. _'So they won't know to look for you. It's... the best I could do. Good luck...'_ As exhaustion finally dragged him under, there was a small, bittersweet smile trembling on Itachi's lips. It was the last he would wear for over a decade.

-o-

All that registered was a booming, echoing sound. Fast, but uneven, this sound rushed through, defining the world within its reach. "Boss." The soft call pierced briefly through the pulsing echo, but the one addressed did not notice it. "Boss, you gotta wake up." Again, the quiet words sounded, more murmured against skin than spoken.

"Come on, Boss, don't do this. Get up." The concern – no, the _fear_ in that voice stirred something visceral in the addressed. Weary eyes forced themselves open, squinting until the blurry edges resolved themselves into a small, damp pug peering down into his face. _'Wait... down?'_

"Report" came the single reply, the rasping word forced almost silently from a raw throat.

"We lost them" Pakkun reported, his stance relaxing now that Kakashi was awake and coherent. Sort of. "You've got some nasty wounds – and I tried to bandage that right leg, but, uh, you might want to re-do it – but we're safe enough for now."

One grey eye flicked down to his leg, and bleeding hands absently retied the sloppy binding over the deep gash. Gathering his breath, the teenager levered himself off of the ground, one of his other nin-dogs moving to brace him when he swayed dangerously. "How long?" came the next question, the Captain's sharp mind fighting to work out whether he could still catch up to the other would-be escapees. Cold snaked its way down his spine with Pakkun's flinch.

"You've been out for about ten minutes – we were on the move for almost four hours." Kakashi blinked once at his pack, crowded close and seemingly fighting not to whimper. _'Puppies'_ he remembered. _'They're barely more than puppies.'_

The young ANBU forced a smirk he didn't really feel, and reached down to ruffle Shiba's crest. "All right, guys" he ordered. "Let's go find our team. Pakkun, you're on point. Bull, cover him. Everyone else, flank out. Stay low, stay quiet... stay alive." And the ragged pack slipped away into the darkness.

-o-

In a large, near-empty house on the far side of the burning Leaf Village, a tiny child mumbled tearfully around the fingers crammed into his mouth. Pale blue eyes swept the small, dark closet, searching with all the intensity their owner was capable of. He was tired, he was wet, and he was starving. His daddy had been gone forever and _ever_, and his babysitter had shoved him in this little place and _left_ him there! There had been running, and yelling, and now it was all quiet and dark. The air smelled funny, and he was scared. "Papa...?" the child, just over a year old, called yet again.

For the first time in hours, a sound answered the frightened little boy. The closed door opened, and a large figure stood outlined in the light.. "Now what have we got here?" A low voice asked.

The baby cheered instantly. "PAPA!" he crowed, excitedly bouncing in place.

The figure chuckled, but there was little amusement in the sound. "Not exactly." The figure crouched in the doorway, revealing a battle scarred shinobi, but the little one was familiar with the sight of steel and armor, and was not yet old enough to understand the difference between the symbols on the hitai-ate of his family and this new man. "Now, who are you?"

The child drew back slightly, wrinkling his tiny nose as the sharp, coppery scent in the air intensified around this man. Not quite steady on his feet, the toddler tripped on his blanket and fell, landing hard on his bottom. Tears welled again in those too-blue eyes, and small fingers jammed themselves right back into his mouth. "...'m Neji" he mumbled.

A sharp, predatory smile spread across the elder's face, though he quickly schooled it into something a little less intense. "Well, Neji-chan, let's get you out of here, huh kid?"

Neji cringed as the shinobi reached for him, fingers leaving wet red smears across the child's blue jumpsuit, but the man bounced him lightly, and then swung him up onto one broad shoulder. Fear forgotten, the baby laughed in delight. "Horsie!"


End file.
